


Inherently Broken

by lecworthy



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Gen, Percy Angst as per usual, i'm always a slut for percy angst, post-raven queen discussion, tag for 57
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-28
Updated: 2019-02-28
Packaged: 2019-11-07 03:13:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17952581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lecworthy/pseuds/lecworthy
Summary: Percival's visit to the Raven Queen did not bring the answers he'd hoped, but it did confirm what he knew all along. As he walks home, he wonders if there is any chance at rectification.(Tag to ep 57, right after Percy visits the Raven Queen.)





	Inherently Broken

**Author's Note:**

> will i ever stop writing sad percy reflection prose? probably not. this is a short little piece that popped into my brain and i had to get out.   
> do you ever think about how percy walked home from the temple alone and immediately wrote a "read in case of my death" note?? because i do.

He had never before cast Hex on himself. The feeling was strange. He had despised Orthax for leaving any semblance of magic behind, but there were ways to use it to his advantage. As Percival walked through the moonlit city streets, the faint black smoke enveloped him almost like it did during his quest of vengeance, and he coughed a bit.

The motion brought not only smoke to his throat but also the faint taste of iron. He almost gagged again at the reminder of how it felt to be drowning and cold and dying, only to revive at the last second. His mind, in those moments, had not been in a pool of blood but in a freezing lake, with arrows firing after him and screams ringing behind him. Not until he had seen the massive porcelain mask in front of him had he remembered his present surroundings. Surroundings that were, once again, of his own making.

Even after the fact, Percy wasn’t really sure what had so strongly drawn him to the Raven Queen to begin with. Even before Vax’s bargain, even before his terrible mistake that had caused that bargain, he had felt intrigued by this deity that claimed no love for redemption or mankind, but only a respect for the natural process of life and death. Other gods had failed him miserably in the past; he had nothing but disdain for them. But surely one who was as lawful as she could see the injustice that other deities had failed to rectify. 

Nevertheless, he had, for a long time, been desperate for answers of any sort, and suddenly hearing of Ripley’s possession of twelve hogsheads of blackpowder pushed him over the edge. He needed answers now. “Something terrible has happened,” he had said to her, and that somehow summarized Ripley and dragons and guns and his whole existence at the moment.   
And now he had his answers, sort of. He had a response from the one source he believed he could find answers from. And what had she told him?

_You were always broken, Percival. Your deeds will guide your path to salvation or damnation. The choice is yours. Should you not watch yourself, you may not find yourself on our side._

Percy had wanted to rage and scream, but he dare not for the fear of drowning in the cold pool again. He was in no position to defy Her. He came to the temple looking for an easy solution, a way out of the mess he’d created, and maybe renewed hope of healing. All she had done was confirmed his darkest beliefs about himself. 

For she was right. Orthax had not broken him, but simply preyed on the underlying cruelty already present. Ripley had not broken him, she had merely put his weakness on display. The Briarwoods had not broken him, only taken away the thing that kept him grounded. 

Part of him had known that the Raven Queen could not tell him what he wanted to hear. He had wanted his mistakes to have a simple fix, where he could take them like a broken gun and tinker them back to functional. He wanted himself to have an easy fix. When she did not give him that, there was anger, but also resignation. He had known he was irredeemable for a long time. Now it was just confirmed by a powerful deity. 

His reflection had distracted him so that he did not realize he had walked all the way back home. Suddenly, Percy was outside standing at the doorway, smoke still trailing slightly behind him. He sighed and banished the spell, and the smoke dissipated with a whiff. Best not make the others needlessly worry.

The warmth of the inside greeted him immediately. It was late and cold outside, and the phantom feel of blood covering him did not help. He was careful to be quiet and made his way directly to his workshop. It was futile to try and sleep. Some of his friends saw him but paid him no mind, save Vex who gave him a curious glance but said nothing more. He said nothing to anyone, only letting out a breath when he was secluded with the door shut.

The gunslinger sat at his desk, staring at sketches and blueprints and crumpled papers. Usually he was able to mindlessly build or tinker to distract himself. Sometimes he did so to a dangerous degree, not bothering to eat or sleep for days at a time. But as he sat there, he could not force his mind to focus on a task. All he could do was replay those words over and over again.

_You were always broken, Percival._

In a surge of emotion he took the pages in front of him and hurled them at the ground. He breathed heavily and felt the smoke from the banished Hex at the back of his throat. There was truly no hope for him. There was no redemption, no judgment, no good deed that could make his life a worthy one. The rest of his days would simply be trying to make up for his mistakes, an impossible task. What kind of life was that? Was it even worth living? Would the world not be better if he was not there to make it worse?

For a moment, he sat there, silent and still, papers discarded at his feet. He knew that if he died then and there, there was only one regret he would have. Perhaps he could try to rectify the one thing he had control over.

And so, with the thought of rectification on his mind, Percival picked up a pen and gingerly uncrumpled one of the papers on the ground. He spread it out on his desk, and, slowly and intentionally, he began to write.

For tonight, that was good enough.


End file.
